


Quid Pro Quo

by Novachester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Bottom!Cas, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling, M/M, boys having butt sex, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novachester/pseuds/Novachester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester considers himself to be one hell of a pick-up artist. He and his best friend Jo have been making bets over it since they were kids, selecting targets for each other and reaping the rewards. Tonight, Jo picks Castiel, the quiet guy in the corner who sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other party-goers. Dean accepts, but quickly finds himself in over his head, especially when Castiel figures out the bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

"Shut up, Jo," Dean laughs, taking a hefty gulp of his beer. "I could get anyone at this party. Anyone. You and I both know that," he says, mouth slanted in a cocky grin. She, Joanna Harvelle, his long-time best friend, rolls her eyes.  
  
"You’re so full of yourself, Dean. Okay. Challenge accepted," she says, determined to find a properly challenging target. They've been playing at this since they were in high school, choosing potential hook ups for the other and betting on the outcome. She scopes the house party out, looking at each and every attendant carefully before her eyes settle (only briefly) on a particular brunette, sitting by himself on the couch in the corner. She smirks, looking back at Dean. "Him. Brunette in the corner, sweater vest."  
  
Dean takes a sip of his beer, tilting his head back as he surveys the room. When he does lock onto Jo's target, he can't help the skeptical quirk of his brow. He lowers his beer and look back to Jo. "Him? You're serious? Dude's been sitting there all night, just staring at everyone. He could be a serial killer," he says, completely serious. Jo laughs.  
  
"You better hope he's not. Now go woo him, or you lose, and you'll be bribing Sam to do _my_ homework for the next week," she says, tipping her drink subtly towards the target. Dean's eyes narrow, but he begrudgingly agrees with a curt nod, downing the last of his beer. "Alright, Harvelle, you're on," he says, shoving the bottle into her hand. He rolls his shoulders once, and then he circles the party for a minute or so before approaching the loner, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.  
  
"Hey," he greets, slumping unceremoniously down on the couch next to the brunette. There's an instant tension in the air that crawls under Dean's skin, thick enough to be palpable. Dean isn't sure yet exactly what kind of tension this is, but right now he's trying not to think too much on the strange look the other boy is currently giving him, as though Dean had sat down and sprouted two heads instead of giving a simple, 'hey.'  
  
“Hello,” he responds, tight-lipped and a slight bit suspicious.  
  
 _That's some kind of start,_ Dean supposes.  
  
"Not much of a party if you don't talk to anyone, you know," he teases, lips quirked in an easy grin, the kind he'd use to charm the lunch lady into giving him extra chicken nuggets. In this case, the subject is much less responsive and will probably need a little more persuasion than that. He's done this dozens of times before, and he's pretty sure he's lost any and all shame he might have had about 20 hook-ups in.  
  
Unfortunately for Dean, this guy doesn't seem to want anything to do with his game.  
  
“Did you need something?” He asks, and there's a clinical level to the way he speaks that makes Dean worry that he might _actually_ be dealing with a serial killer.  
  
Dean leans further back against the couch, tries to make himself comfortable despite the rocky start. He can swing this. “Relax, man. I'm just having a conversation,” he says, hand raised slightly, as if to calm a cornered fox. Dean uses that same hand to gesture in a vague circle around the room as he says, “That's kind of what you do at these things. Socialize.”  
  
With that, Dean pointedly extends his hand to the other student. “Dean,” he introduces, hand hovering between them in a make-or-break dangle.  
  
There's a long pause, during which Dean's hand is stared at with a bizarre level of intensity, and he thinks that it ultimately may get denied, but finally, after much apparent deliberation, the stranger takes Dean's hand, failing to really “shake” it so much as squeeze it briefly. “Castiel,” he says, and of course he'd have some oddball name like that.  
  
Still. It's progress.  
  
Dean takes his time releasing Castiel's hand, which doesn't seem to go over his head. He's still watching Dean carefully, like he suspects a balloon is going to expand out of Dean's mouth at any minute. He's good enough looking of a guy (kind of gorgeous, actually), so there's no way he hasn't been flirted with before. What's throwing him off so much?  
  
“So, uh,” Dean starts, elegant as always. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't really strike me as the partying type. Lose a bet or something?” He asks, which is exactly what Dean intends not to do tonight. He's beginning to take Castiel's blatant disinterest a little personally.  
  
Castiel tilts his head to the side, and Dean thinks of those creepy owls Sam likes to show him on the internet. “I don't gamble,” Castiel says, very matter-of-fact, and that earns an honest laugh out of Dean.  
  
Shifting to face Castiel properly, Dean slings his arm over the back of the couch, other hand gripping his own knee. “Alright, no bets. Someone drag you here?” He asks, glancing around. No one really seems to be paying attention to him chatting it up with Castiel, but it’s entirely possible he got ditched. He's not exactly life of the party material, even if Dean's thoughts are getting less and less focused the longer he stares at those lips of his.  
  
“Not exactly,” Castiel hedges, drawing Dean's attention back to him. He doesn't seem to have stopped looking at Dean since he sat down next to him, and it would be unnerving if his utmost attention wasn't what Dean wanted.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Dean smiles somewhat. “That's not a no.”  
  
“I suppose not,” Castiel agrees, but offers no further information, brows furrowed. He still looks baffled as to why Dean is talking to him at all, and Dean's beginning to feel like he's heading towards a dead end.  
  
Looking to change course before that happens, Dean throws up a new subject. “What're you in for, anyways? I'm in for auto-mechanics,” he says, because if you can't talk to another dude about cars, what can you talk about?  
  
“My major is psychology,” Castiel replies blandly, his stare bordering on blank now. Great, now Dean feels boring _and_ inept.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dean prompts, and part of him is genuinely intrigued. He used to think psychology would be good for him, that he could find his way into some kind of counselling program to help troubled teens or some crap like that, but in the end he decided it would be best to do what he’s already good at and support his considerably smarter younger brother.  
  
Sam has a much better shot at the life he wants than Dean does.  
  
“So, you do all that psycho-analysis, right?” Dean continues when Castiel doesn't, figuring he might be able to get him to open up if he plays dumb a bit. Leaning forward, he grins, meeting Castiel's mildly intimidating stare. “Do me,” he says, with no lack of suggestibility. “What have you analyzed about me?”  
  
Castiel doesn't look impressed. In fact, he looks like he's resisting every nerve ending in his eyes in order not to roll them. Dean supposes this is the equivalent of people trying to fish tech support for their cars out of him on the spot without giving him any real information about the problem.  
  
“You're drunk,” is Castiel's final verdict, voice flat.  
  
Dean laughs. “And you're not. Come on, dude. You look like you're at a funeral,” he says before gesturing out around them, towards the crowd. “Room full of people, good beer, crappy music, and you're sitting here playing statue.”  
  
There was another long lapse of silence, Castiel's eyes narrowing as he observes Dean, seeming to have a conversation with himself within the confines of his mind. After a moment, he lets go the breath he'd been holding, a soft sigh. “What would you suggest I do?”  
  
Dean's grin couldn't be brighter. “I suggest you have a beer with me,” he says, hauling himself up off of the couch. He holds his hand out to Castiel, wiggling his fingers in invitation when the hand isn't immediately taken.  
  
Castiel stares at the pro-offered hand with a slight crinkle of his nose, and Dean really would love to know what the hell inner debate Castiel is having with himself every time he falls into those silences. Castiel's eyes eventually slide up from Dean's hand and back to his eyes, intensely blue and focused. “Why?”  
  
Dean waggles his fingers again. “Because I'm adorable and it's more fun this way.”  
  
One more sigh, but Dean _definitely_ hears it as a victory anthem when Castiel gingerly takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled up from the couch. It's been a while since he's had to fight like this for a target, and longer yet since he really wasn't even thinking about the bet anymore. He’s a lot more curious about Castiel than he is about what kind of punishment Ellen will think up for Jo when she figures out she's promised Dean free beers for a week.  
  
Dean holds tight onto Castiel's hand as he navigates them through the crowd, feeling an inexplicable flutter in his stomach when he feels Castiel's fingers curl (just slightly) over the curve of his hand. Only when they reach the cooler table does he let go, a little reluctantly. Dean fishes two beers out of the ice, using the edge of the table to snap their respective caps off.  
  
Handing one to Castiel, Dean offers a small cheer before he takes a sip. “Alright, I've been asking all the questions. Now it's your turn,” Dean announces, spreading his arms a little to indicate his readiness to answer whatever Castiel decides to throw at him.  
  
Castiel just looks at the bottle in his hand before glancing back to Dean. “Fine. Why do you care if I have a beer or not?”  
  
“I don't really,” Dean answers honestly, shrugging. It's not his intention to get Castiel drunk or otherwise impaired so he can have his way with him. That's not the way the bets work, and one way or another, Dean just isn't that kind of guy.  He takes another swig. “I do want you to have some fun, though.”  
  
That answer doesn't seem to be the one Castiel's looking for. “But why? No one else here cared,” he says, gesturing around. Dean knows it's true, knows he hadn't seen a single soul approach Castiel in the time Dean had even been aware of his presence. Who knows how long that had been?  
  
Dean takes a sip of his beer. There aren't really any rules against telling your target about the bet, except in the case of bribery, which disqualifies the player instantly. Still, Dean's not sure he wants to admit that the only reason he approached Castiel was for a bet. “Guess I'm not like everyone else,” he says, and he has to take another swig of his drink to wash away the bad taste the words leave.  
  
Castiel studies him for a moment, makes the hairs at the back of Dean's neck prickle, before finally taking a sip of his beer. “If you say so.”  
  
Shit. Castiel clearly doesn't buy it, and with the way Dean’s failing to sell it, it's no surprise. Scratching the back of his neck, Dean feels small under the continuous weight of Castiel's gaze. He can feel himself breaking, but more than that, he feels himself _wanting_ to break.  
  
“...Alright, so it was more of a bet,” he says, clearing his throat afterwards. Christ, he's normally so good at talking himself out of crappy situations like this, but there's something about Castiel that's steadily tearing away his bravado that's just downright frustrating. “But it was dumb, doesn't matter anymore.”  
  
For the first time that Dean can recall, Castiel's eyes light up. Tilting his head, as if Dean somehow make more sense at that angle, Castiel asks curiously, “What kind of bet?  
  
 _Shit._  
  
Dean looks off to the side, occupying his mouth with a gulp of beer as he thinks about how he's going to word this without coming across as a completely shallow, perverted asshole. “Just some game a friend and I mess with sometimes. Y'know, see who's got it better.”  
  
Castiel's brows furrow in confusion. It's kind of adorable. “Who's got what better?”  
  
Dean stares at Castiel incredulously. It's like they're speaking two different languages. “Really, dude? Haven't you ever seen Date Night or something?”  
  
There's absolutely zero recognition in Castiel's eyes, just a hint more confusion and a little consideration, as though he's trying to recall a far off memory. “No. Is that a movie?”  
  
Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, it's a movie. I'll show you sometime. Get some real education in that noggin of yours,” he says, and the next gulp he takes of his beer is the final one. He drops the empty down into the bin full, and swipes a second from the cooler.  
  
Meanwhile, Castiel's lips are angled down into a slight frown. “In the meantime, you can tell me what you were referring to. What’s the bet?”  
  
 _Crap,_ Dean thinks. _Almost.  
  
_ He bites back a sigh, scratching quickly at the back of his head. _Might as well get this over with,_ he supposes, reconciling the lost bet now. “We pick people who look difficult, and the other person has to try and hook up with them,” he says all at once. Immediately he’s bracing himself for the worst, hoping he'll get only beer to the face and not a beer _bottle_.  
  
In actuality, he gets neither. When he looks to Castiel, he’s nodding, thoughtful. “You mean sex,” Castiel says, and Dean's eyebrows both rise. “And if you succeed, what do you get?  
  
“Uh.” Dean makes a face, caught off guard by the apparently immediate acceptance of his seemingly sketchy and very high-school game. “It varies. Sometimes it's money, but usually it's just favours and shit.”  
  
Much to Dean's bemusement, it looks as though Castiel is seriously analyzing every detail Dean gives him. “And if you succeed with me?”  
  
Dean licks his lips. Honestly, he'd kind of consider that a win in and of itself at this point. “Are you suggesting that I'm gonna?”  
  
With the face Castiel makes at that, Dean isn't sure whether he should laugh or run away. It's impatient, almost petulant in a way that makes Dean want to offer him ice cream or something, but Castiel has made it very clear that he's no child.  
  
“Free drinks for a week,” Dean says in a bit of a rush, brows furrowing. Castiel seems to be contemplating something, and then suddenly it clicks for Dean. “You're using this for some kind of psychology thing, aren't you?”  
  
Now _that_ makes sense. If Castiel was just here to observe, to write some kind of article about the goings-on of college life, or maybe something higher brow about social constructs amongst young adults, Dean can understand why he'd be so irritated about being interrupted... Until he found a new subject.  
  
Castiel looks at Dean curiously, and his voice snaps Dean out of his train of thought. “Does that bother you? You were going to use me for free drinks,” he says, but there's no disdain or malice in it, just matter of fact. Of course, it's been so far impossible to get a real read on him, so maybe Dean’s wrong.  
  
Dean opens his mouth, though he stops short. His eyes narrow a touch, but the more he considers what Castiel is saying, the more the tension starts to ebb away. He breaks into a slow smile, deciding all at once that he really likes this guy. “So, we could consider this a Quid Pro Quo type of deal?”  
  
The corner of Castiel's lips quirk. Dean's heart jumps. “Yes.”  
  
Dean takes a somewhat tentative step forward, hand resting on the table next to Castiel, who's still nursing a mostly full beer. “So, if I were to kiss you right now, you'd come home with me instead of punching me in the face?”  
  
Frightening how Castiel could look as though he's weighing the two options so closely, and yet still be the most appealing thing Dean’s seen all week. “If you'll promise to answer any and all of my questions honestly, yes,” he confirms.  
  
“Scouts honour,” Dean replies cheekily just before he closes the gap between them, their wet lips sliding easily against one another. Its borderline chaste, the type of kiss Dean honestly hasn't had since his first, and the flutter in his stomach is definitely something he hasn't felt in a long time. When Dean pulls back, he finds Castiel's eyes open and expectant, but definitely a little softer than they'd been before.  
  
Or maybe they aren't, and Dean is simply just now noticing where to see their softness.  
  
“I assume your friend needs to see us leave,” Castiel says, though his eyes never leave Dean's.  
  
Dean offers his hand out to Castiel, and this time, his hand slips easily into Dean's, lithe fingers curling around the span of Dean's hand. “Yeah, can't hurt to rub it in a bit,” he says, pausing to catch a quick, brief kiss as Castiel nearly walks ahead of him. It's definitely worth it to see the surprise flare in Castiel's eyes, only to shift back to curiosity.  
  
“Does it earn you extra 'points?'”  
  
“Nope,” Dean answers before they're moving again, with Castiel following closely. Dean's pretty sure he can feel Jo's eyes on his back, digging in like the daggers in her collection.  
  
“Then why? What does it gain you?”  
  
Dean takes just a quick second to think about that. “Something you should know about me, Cas," he says, the nickname coming to him easily. "I like to have a good time. Sometimes it benefits me, sometimes it ends me in the shitter; Right now? This is having a good time."  
  
Letting Castiel stew on that, Dean turns back to leading them out of the fray, clearing the path of mostly-drunken bodies that continue to stumble about in some semblance of dance. Just as they reach the door, Castiel pauses, tugging slightly on Dean's hand. When Dean turns around, he doesn't even have a second to get a question out before Castiel's pinning him up against the door, pressing their bodies together and kissing Dean _hard_ , lips and teeth and tongue all mingling together.  
  
Dean grunts against Castiel's lips, caught entirely off guard by the sudden aggression. He doesn’t oppose it though, hands falling to Castiel's hips instinctively as he returns the kiss, a soft sound escaping the back of his throat when Castiel nips his bottom lip.  
  
When Castiel pulls back, it's with a small smile, one hand coming up to gently wipe Dean's bottom lip with his thumb. “Did your friend see?” He asks, and it takes Dean a minute to even register what Castiel is talking about.  
  
“At this point, Cas, I don't really give a shit,” he says, and then he's pulling Castiel out the door, catching a quick kiss against it once it's shut. Dean's apartment is just down the road, visible from where they are, but Dean is still practically running towards it, dragging Castiel closely in tow.  
  
Dean feels it when Castiel leans back on his heels, trying not to stumble with the way Dean's pulling him. “Dean,what's the rush?”  
  
Shrugging, Dean manages to slow himself down, looking back at Castiel, lips spread into an easy smile that falters just a little at the corners. He can only hope it's not as self-conscious as he feels, worried that somewhere between here and the bedroom, Dean's novelty will wear off. “You're a smart guy. I don't want your head to clear and have you realize how much of a bad idea I am,” he says casually, tossing a wink over his shoulder.  
  
When he meets Castiel's stare, he's a little thrown by what he sees. Castiel looks almost _disturbed_ by the joke, brows knitted together in thought. For a split second, Dean has this weird feeling that he's going to get reprimanded for the joke, but before he can try and cut it off, Castiel's expression smoothes out and he replies, “No. I have several more questions.”  
  
Dean smiles at that, turning back to face the walk ahead, trying not to think too much on how easily his fingers slot together with Castiel's, or how warm they are. Truth be told, there really isn't any reason for him to be holding Castiel's hand beyond the fact he doesn't feel like letting go. “Alright, shoot. Ask me another.”  
  
Castiel's response is immediate; “Why was I considered difficult?”  
  
Oh boy. At first, Dean tries to think of the least offensive way of answering this, but after a moment he realizes that that's probably the completely wrong approach. From what Dean's seen of him, Castiel is honest to a fault, blunt and not exactly constrained by social norms. Besides, Dean did promise to answer all of Castiel's questions honestly.  
  
“You're kind of intimidating, dude,” he says, and it's true. Despite the messy furl of his hair and the Mister Rogers outfit he's got going, there's something about Castiel that draws you in, and yet also makes you suspect he's calculating how long it would take him to dismantle the jaw of anyone stupid enough to bother him.  
  
Castiel's surprise is obvious. “Me? How?”  
  
“You stare,” Dean replies, reaching across his torso into the opposite side pocket of his jacket for his apartment keys.  Letting go of Castiel's hand still seems like a stupid idea. He's not exactly sure how to convey what it is that made him suspect Castiel might be a serial killer, but he makes an attempt. “A lot. People watching and keeping to yourself like that, it's just... well, it's creepy.”  
  
Dean thanks God because Castiel doesn't look the least bit offended. Instead, he just nods, contemplative, and then moves onto the next question. “Are these bets always based around obtaining a sexual partner?”  
  
“Not always,” Dean answers, stepping into the elevator when it opens. Castiel walks closely to him, keeps their sides pressed together, and once the doors shut Dean takes the opportunity to steal another kiss, cupping the side of Castiel's jaw with his spare hand. Cas responds well, humming softly before opening up to Dean, lips parting to make way for the slide of their tongues.  
  
In hindsight, “responds well” is an understatement. Castiel holds tight onto Dean's fingers, but his other hand wanders somewhere less innocent, cupping Dean's groin and squeezing when he finds Dean already hard in his jeans. Dean breaks the kiss with a moan, swearing he feels the way Castiel smiles just before they part.  
  
When Dean opens his eyes, Castiel's isn't smiling, but he looks pleased, the corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly. Cas licks his lips, and Dean can't help but follow the movement closely with his eyes.  
  
“Do you always pick for each other?” Castiel asks, and who can blame Dean if it takes him a solid minute to understand what he's talking about? Cas is _still_ clutching Dean’s dick, thumb rubbing slow circles through the denim.  
  
Dean nods quickly, yanks Castiel back in for another kiss, harder this time. Castiel falls easily into it, and the slide of their mouths is gradually becoming more aggressive, hungrier. “Yeah, keeps us from cheating,” he manages after the kiss, breathy.  
  
Not knowing if he's frustrated or relieved by the ding of the elevator, Dean decides it hardly matters when he pulls Cas out of it, the both of them stumbling in a mess of limbs and shared breaths, somehow still facing each other, even as they make their way to Dean's apartment.  
  
Dean had always thought the most frustrating thing in life was trying to work your keys when you're ass-backwards drunk, but it turns out that's a walk in the park compared to doing it with Cas behind him, mouthing at the curve of his neck and grinding his palm down along the front of Dean's groin.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean hisses before he finally manages to jam the key into the lock, twisting it so fiercely that he nearly snaps the key off in the knob. He twists around in Castiel's grip and slides his fingers into the belt loops of Castiel's pants in a fluid motion, slamming their hips together and diving in for another kiss. “You're a damn tease,” Dean accuses against Castiel's lips, nipping at them hungrily.  
  
“Only if I don't follow through,” Castiel responds in a low voice, and then he's pushing Dean backwards through the open door, nudging it shut with his foot once they're inside. On the way to his bedroom, Dean can't seem to keep his hands off of Castiel, grinding and grabbing, feeling unexpected muscle beneath the folds of Castiel's clothes. He needs to get his mouth on that skin as of _now_.  
  
Instead, Dean gets a taste of that surprise strength when Castiel grips his wrists suddenly, lifting them away and taking a step back. Dean's stomach flips uncertainly as Castiel releases his wrists, but as soon as Cas tugs his sweater vest over his head, Dean gets the idea and practically yanks his over shirt off, followed closely by his tee shirt.  
  
“What's your success rate in these bets?” Castiel asks, folding his sweater over his arm before he sets it atop Dean's dresser, taking a second to look around Dean's bedroom. Castiel takes a moment to look around, expression unreadable as his gaze flits over various personal photos, before he returns to the task of unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
Dean throws his shirt in the vague direction of his laundry basket, kicking off his boots before working off his belt. “Decent. I'd say we're fifty-fifty, even though she'd probably say otherwise,” he says, and to be fair, Jo may very well have it better than Dean. He doesn't keep score much these days.  
  
“'She'?” Castiel echoes, sounding mildly surprised. Dean pauses to watch Castiel bend down to unlace his shoes, shoulders bared. Dean gets the sudden urge to bite them, finds himself biting his tongue instead.  
  
“Uh, yeah, yeah, she-- Joanna,” Dean says, stumbling on his words whilst yanking his belt out of the loops and tossing it haphazardly.  
  
Castiel hums thoughtfully, toeing out of his shoes and pushing them to sit together beside the dresser. He tugs his socks off and tucks one inside each shoe. “I had assumed she was male,” he admits, for which Dean doesn’t blame him.  
  
“Most people do,” Dean says, left in nothing but his socks and his boxers, but he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. Watching Castiel undress like this has been agony, his fingers twitching, desperate to be the ones sliding those pants down along Castiel's thighs, which Dean notes are also a lot more muscular than he was expecting. His mouth waters and before he can think to do otherwise, he's back up in Castiel's space, hands sliding along blessedly naked skin.  
  
Castiel gives a soft little noise that Dean wants to swallow up, and he does just that, pressing their lips together at the same time he rolls his hips against Castiel's, and even through the layers of their underwear, the rub of their cocks together sends hot waves down Dean's back.  
  
“Do you think it gives her an advantage?” Castiel asks, and Dean loves how breathy his voice has gone, loves the way dull nails are digging into his back as Cas grinds against Dean in turn. “Being female, that is.”  
  
“Not in the least,” Dean responds, walking Castiel back until his knees hit the bed and Dean can push him down, climbing over top of him. Castiel lifts his hips helpfully when Dean pulls on his underwear, plain blue briefs that slide easily down Castiel's thighs. It's the only garment of Castiel's isn't neatly folded in a stack, ending up somewhere amongst Dean's things as he tosses them aside.  
  
Dean's attention is immediately on Castiel's cock, thick and straining up, jerking when Dean flicks his tongue over the head of it. Castiel inhales sharply, hands falling to Dean's shoulders. “What started this?” He asks. Dean can't believe Cas is still asking questions when there's a mouth literally breathing down his dick.  
  
Dean decides he's had enough of talking. “This what?”  
  
“The ga-- ah!” Castiel doesn't get the chance to finish, cut off when Dean sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, twisting his tongue around it. This is one of Dean's favorite parts of sex, finding power in the pleasure of someone else and using that power to turn their world upside down. Cas is perfect for this, unrestrained and responsive, kneading the muscle of Dean's shoulders reflexively as Dean sucks him down.  
  
Not long after, Dean pulls off with a purposefully wet slurp, licking his lips. He curls one hand around the base of Castiel's dick and pumps slowly, licks at the tiny dribble of precome it earns him. “Sorry, didn't quite catch that before, Cas,” he teases, kissing and suckling at the underside of Castiel's cock. “What did you want to ask?”  
  
Castiel grits his teeth, eyes hooded and dark as they meet Dean's, who's all sly eyes with a tone that poorly feigns innocence. Dean's still jerking his cock slowly, but he's giving Castiel an expectant stare, and so after a moment of consideration (and probably against his better judgement), Castiel tries again. “The game. How did the game— _Dean!_ ” Castiel ends on a hiss, head falling back on the pillow as Dean presses a spit-slick finger to his rim, rubbing back and forth. He growls when Dean laughs at him.  
  
“I think you're just gonna have to wait until the post-coital discussion,” Dean tells him, finger continuing to circle Castiel's hole as he takes his cock back into his mouth, cheeks hollowing slightly as he sucks. Castiel gives a whine that goes right to Dean's own neglected dick, practically clawing at Dean's back now.  
  
“Lube,” Castiel manages to say, squeezing at Dean's arm. “Lube, Dean. Tell me you have lube.”  
  
Dean hums an affirmative around a mouthful of cock, sliding off slowly. When he meets Castiel's stare, Castiel adds, “And condoms?”  
  
Hell to the fucking yeah.  
  
“Night stand, bottom drawer,” he tells him, and right away Castiel is twisting, reaching down to yank the drawer open. Dean belatedly remembers there's a decent stack of skin mags sitting in there, but Castiel doesn't care enough to comment, doesn't even linger. He's too preoccupied grabbing what he's looking for, and when he finds it, he practically _whips_ the bottle of lube right at Dean's head.  
  
It smacks against the side of Dean's head with a dull thud, and Castiel only looks mildly concerned as Dean curses, picking the bottle back up. Cas quirks a brow. He asks, “Are you alright?”  
  
“You did that on purpose,” Dean accuses, but he's laughing, nudging Castiel's legs apart so he can settle properly between them. Cas accommodates him, spreading his legs obscenely wide and giving Dean a perfect view of the goods.  
  
“Don't be paranoid. Now fuck me,” Castiel says, but there's that glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and Dean is so thrown he hardly knows how to react. All he knows that he heard the magic words and his cock is throbbing like a goddamn jackhammer, so yeah, he's ready to get to work.  
  
“You're a freak,” Dean says with a grin. The look Castiel gives him at that makes Dean think this might just be the tip of one very, very large iceberg. He can only hope he’s not in over his head with this one. Regardless, Dean pops open the cap of the lube and drizzles it over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it slightly before he presses them to Castiel's hole, earning a low moan from him.  
  
One finger slides in easily enough, Castiel's body ready and relaxed, clearly having done this before. So far most of Dean's experience with men has been clumsy; a lot of experimenting and self-discovery, but Castiel seems far beyond that, rocking his hips down against Dean's finger. “Another,” he pants, pulling on Dean's other arm, and Dean complies, pushing a second finger in as he raises up to meet Castiel's lips, kissing back as hungrily as Castiel does.  
  
 _Shit,_ Dean thinks, staring down at Castiel. He's got one hand planted on the bed, just over Castiel's shoulder, to support his weight while he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of Cas, and he doesn't think he could possibly have a better view.  
  
Castiel's head is tilted back, lips parted slightly. His neck is completely exposed, and it's an invitation Dean can't resist. He leans down to suck just to the side of his Adam's apple. Castiel rewards him with a shudder, arching his back even further, and as Dean starts a slow descend down his neck, nipping at his collarbones, Castiel has begun a steady, breathy chant of _more, more, more._  
  
Yeah, Dean can deal with _more._ He slides in another finger, the fit tight. He crooks all three of them and starts up a fast rhythm, biting back a groan as Castiel's body spasms around them. He can hardly wait for that to be his dick, to hike Castiel's legs up over his shoulders and fuck him until there's no breath left in him.  
  
In the meantime, Dean busies himself with Castiel's chest, continuing to lick and kiss his way down, careful not to leave any marks, in case Cas isn't into that. He drags his tongue over a nipple and the reaction is instantaneous, one of Castiel's hands going to the back of Dean's head, fingers gripping the short strands best they can. “Oh!” Castiel gasps, arching up against Dean's mouth. He takes the hint and sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue and even biting.  
  
Castiel is writhing beneath Dean, in a perpetual fight between thrusting down onto Dean's fingers and pushing up into his mouth. “Dean, please, just...” Castiel groans, angles his hips just so and _Christ,_ Dean must have hit the jackpot because Castiel gasps, fucking himself enthusiastically down on Dean's hand and moaning out, “There, there, yes, _Dean!_ ”  
  
“Shit,” Dean hisses, and he can't believe he's still got his underwear (and socks) on because he needs to be inside of Castiel right goddamn now. Dean pulls away, slipping out of Castiel's grasp and settling back in between his legs. “I got you, Cas. Look so fucking good,” he murmurs, fingers still pistoning in and out.  
  
Castiel keens, legs trembling with the effort it takes to pull himself still. “Dean, please. Fuck me, or I'm going to come like this,” he warns, and Dean marvels because he hasn't touched Cas's cock since he started fingering him. Is he serious? Could Dean really make him come like this, fingers in his ass and nothing else? Dean's seriously tempted to find out, but at the moment Castiel is begging to be fucked and that's a plea Dean would really rather oblige.  
  
Despite pleading for it, the sound Castiel makes when Dean withdraws his fingers is almost agonized, though he gets a moment to settle his breath as Dean reaches over him, grabbing one of the condoms Castiel had retrieved earlier. Dean tears the packet open, fumbling for only a second before he gets the condom rolled down the length of his dick.  
  
“Turn over,” Dean instructs, but it sounds more like an order, his voice rough on the high of his own arousal, and it makes something in Castiel's eyes flash, his chest catching on a breath.  
  
“Make me,” Castiel shoots back, but it doesn't sound playful or even petulant. It's too calculated for that, like Castiel is testing Dean, which would be pretty ballsy for someone who was literally just _begging_ for this a second ago. Luckily for him, Dean is way too hard to be playing any more mind games.  
  
Without a thought, Dean grabs a hold of Castiel's hips and _forcibly_ flips him over, hauling him up onto his knees. Castiel goes easily, balancing out on his hands and knees, legs spread wide and inviting as Dean nudges in between them. Dean's hands slide over Castiel's ass, squeezing and spreading him open. Castiel shudders, leaning back into Dean's touch and giving a moan when he feels the nudge of Dean's latex-clad cock at his hole.  
  
“Dean,” Castiel snaps impatiently, leaning further down onto his arms, pushing his ass back against Dean. “Hurry.”  
  
“Bossy,” Dean accuses, but he listens, he pushes in _hard,_ a quick snap of his hips that drives him all the way inside. He holds onto Cas’s hips with bruising force and drives himself in again and again, determined to make this as good as he can. Cas is wild against him, moaning and twisting his hands fervently in the sheets. He’s not talking anymore, just a slack-jawed chorus of breathy moans and the occasional keen when Dean angles himself just right and slams in.  
  
The slide of their bodies is sinuously, sweat beading everywhere their skin meets, making the press and slide of it all that much easier, that much hotter. Dean presses his chest along the length of Cas’s back, one hand on his hip while his other hand goes to Cas’s shoulder, holding him steady as he grinds in deep, whispering absolute filth into Cas’s ear.  
  
Dean can feel Cas falling apart beneath him, each breath carrying with it a noise of pleasure, of desperation, but when Dean reaches down to offer some relief, Cas is lightning fast at stopping him, grabbing Dean’s hand and pinning it against his chest. Dean can barely believe he’s holding himself up on just one arm at this point.  
  
“Just fuck me, make me come like this, want to come like this, make me, don’t stop talking,” Cas babbles, all of it shooting shocks of red hot want through Dean’s body. He’s not going to be able to hold on much longer if this continues, but he’s determined not to fuck up, to give Cas exactly what he wants, to make sure he’s someone Cas _never_ forgets.  
  
“Take it so fucking good, Cas, knew you would. Sound so good under me, fucking yourself on my cock. Need it bad, don’t you?” Dean asks, voice tight, stricken with the magnitude of his own need for release. It’s almost painful. “C’mon, wanna see you come.” Dean gives another hard thrust that makes them both groan before he pulls his hand away from Castiel’s grip and slides it up the back of his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair.  
  
“Yes!” Cas cries, a broken noise that prompts Dean to tighten his hold, pulling with more confidence, craning Castiel’s neck and fucking him in sharp, shallow thrusts. “Yes, yes, ye-yes! Dean, _Dean!_ ”  
  
Castiel comes with a shudder that ripples through his entire body and into Dean’s, a sensation of quaking that immediately has Dean righting himself to offer support, releasing Cas’s hair to hold his hips steady, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. He doesn’t think he physically could.  
  
While Cas’s arms give out beneath him, his legs stay strong, ass high and pressed tight to Dean’s torso as he grinds into him, a drop of sweat falling from his chin, the strain of it all peaking. Dean comes like a freight train, one final wet slap of skin as he empties himself. He crumples in on himself, the both of them collapsing in a sweaty mess on the bed.  
  
It takes Dean a solid ten minutes before he manages to find the energy to roll off of Cas, his dick slipping free with a wet, comical little _pop_. He groggily slips the condom off, tying the end before tossing it in the vague direction of his trash bin before sprawling loosely on his back, eyes closed.  
  
After a moment, there’s a shift on the bed and Cas is nestled against him, nose pressed to Dean’s cheek. “Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asks, to which Dean gives a slurred affirmative. Cas frowns slightly. “I still have questions.”  
  
Dean can’t help but snort incredulously, lips quirking up into a sleepy smile. He slips his arm underneath Cas and curls his fingers over the sharp jut of his hip, rubbing circles there. “Ask me over breakfast.”  
  
Castiel lifts his head, looking curiously down at Dean. “You want me to spend the night?”  
  
“Stay,” Dean confirms, shifting over onto his side so that he can wrap both arms around Castiel’s waist, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He’s always been a somewhat notorious cuddle monster, which seems to have thrown Cas for somewhat of a loop. At least he managed to get the upper hand there.  
  
Dean doesn’t see Cas smile, but he likes to think he can hear it in his voice. “Alright,” he says softly, settling back down against Dean, rubbing his back as his consciousness fades. “Breakfast it is.”  
  
The last thing Dean remembers before drifting off is the warmth of Cas’s body pressed against his, and the slow, peaceful patterns being traced on his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> i want to say a very big thank you to my dear friend moofy, who commissioned this! thank you so much for your support. ♥
> 
> if you're interested in commissioning me, message me here or check out my tumblr! novachester.tumblr.com/tagged/commissions


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